DIARY OF A FIRSTTIME GRANDMOTHER (IT’S COMPLICATED)

This week: Granny worries that she has missed Rose growing up

Rose is two next week. Where has the time gone? When my three were little, I was always told to “make the most of it while they’re young”. At the time, I couldn’t wait for them to grow up so I wouldn’t have to worry about chickenpox, overeating, under-eating, tantrums and not going to bed.

But now I’m a granny, I get it. It doesn’t seem like a blink of an eye since Rose’s birth and now I’m wondering – too late – if I’ve squeezed out every moment of joy, instead of panicking about juggling work and granny duties.

“Do you realise,” said my daughter, “that she starts nursery in the New Year? When I go back to work, you’ll never have her for a full day again.’

“Really?” says Newish Husband, reaching for the travel brochures.

No. Not really. Because we’ll have George. Already, I’m beginning to panic. He’s so small and he cries when I pick him up. I know we’ve got a few months to go before I’m in charge, but I’m nervous.

Meanwhile, birthday excitement is mounting – at least among the adults. Rose hasn’t got a clue. “That’s because every day is a birthday for her,” says NH. ‘“Anyway, it’s so close to Christmas that we can get away with one gift.” Is he joking?

It turns out that Rose is having two parties: one with us, my first husband and his wife, plus the paternal grandparents, and another with my granddaughter’s friends. Both are at the same outdoor play park on consecutive days.

“It all sounds very civilised”, says Straightforward-family Gran, who’s just joined our group of silver sitters.

“Nothing like a children’s steam train ride for adult bonding,” chips in Bad Gran with a gleam in her eye.

Actually, I’m quite proud of our extended family. My own divorced parents always saw their grandchildren at separate times – including birthdays and Christmas. Personally, I’m glad we are able to present a united front. In fact, rather than making it complicated, it actually makes life much easier. Six grandparents who all get on! How lucky is that?

A few days later, Rose and I head off to her playgroup. It isn’t smooth sailing. We’re practising for the nativity and Rose is the only angel with a dummy. (Not my idea.)

Disapproving eyes are on me. Rose might as well be smoking a roll-up cigarette. “She’s teething,” I say defensively.

We leave early and take NH by surprise. “You’re not meant to be back yet,” he says.

“Box,” slurs Rose. She’s right. My husband’s head is indeed inside a box.

“Get her home or it will spoil the surprise,” he hisses. When I return later, a very smug NH greets me at the front door. “Cover your eyes,” he instructs, taking me into the kitchen. “All right. Now you can look.”

I don’t believe it. Never before have I seen such a handsome beast.

“Rose’s first sports car,” he announces. “I couldn’t resist. That’s a real leather seat. She’ll be able to ride it round her house.”

I point out that, wonderful as this present is, daughter and son-in-law’s home is already bursting at the seams with children’s paraphernalia.

“Then we can keep it here for her,” he says quickly. “When George is older, he can ride it, too.”

That’s when I get it. If NH had had a child of his own, this is exactly what he’d have bought. And my heart is suddenly filled with poignancy and love. So much for it not being complicated.